


In for a moment, in for a f*cking lifetime

by eleanorknows



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: A Little of Post 4x12, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Domestic Disputes, Drugs, F/M, Gen, Guns, Iggy has a fluffy soul, Iggy has some bisexual sex, Iggy loves his family, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Mama Milkovich's Death, Sibling Bonding, Sibling Rivalry, Then Humor, Verbal Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-22
Updated: 2014-08-22
Packaged: 2018-02-14 05:37:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2179986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eleanorknows/pseuds/eleanorknows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Iggy grew from an angry, hateful kid under Terry Milkovich's shadow to something so much more. You don't know Iggy until you don't fight him, see his fluffy soul on the inside that loves his family. Him at different ages and how it interweaves with his parents, siblings, and the colorful people of Southside Chicago.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In for a moment, in for a f*cking lifetime

**Author's Note:**

> *WARNINGS*: Serious topics, strong language, controversial imagery, Mama Milkovich's death, Mandy's rape by Terry, general violence, verbal abuse, sex, guns/weapons, drugs. 
> 
> This follows canon throughout all the seasons with a little of post 4x12. I'm going with the assumption that Mama Milkovich passed away at some point. And since the show is pretty liberal with how characters age and how much time passes, I'm doing the same!

Iggy’s eight, holding a gun in his small hands and striking a pose in the bathroom mirror.

It’s a nice semi-automatic, jet black with a few scratches like it’s been through some serious shit. One of the dozen varieties lying around the house, most still loaded. He holds the gun sideways with one hand and closes one eye to aim. “Bang,” he mouths as he pretends to pull the trigger like Dad does when he doesn’t like someone or he’s had a few too many beers.

Today, Dad’s off on a run and Colin's tagging along even though he’s a year younger. It’s not right, Colin isn’t fucking better than him. Colin’s a total wuss, can’t even take more than two punches to the gut when they fight in the backyard on days when Dad and his friends are bored and want some entertainment. Iggy has to prove himself, show Dad he’s the tougher and better one.

Dad says only pussies keep themselves too clean, real men have more important shit to do. Igy's clothes are filthy, full of week-old stains and he wears it proudly. Last week, Mom picked up all his clothes off the floor and washed them, he called her a fucking bitch and slammed all the doors on his way out. “That’s my boy, a Milkovich!” Dad’s barking laughter echoed loudly. And then he felt even more ashamed going around with clean clothes like a total bitch.

Now Mom walks in on him with Mandy in her arms and she freezes, a strange expression on her face. It takes an extra second for him to realize he’s holding the gun at her. Mandy starts shrieking from being gripped too tight and wide-eyed Mickey peeks out from behind Mom’s legs. Sighing loudly, Iggy lowers the gun and shoves his way past the trio.

Damn it, can he get a fucking moment alone?

 

–

 

Iggy’s twelve, being escorted into the back of a police car and on his way to juvie for the first of many times.

One tooth is knocked out, flooding his mouth with the taste of blood so he spits out onto the ground before his body slides onto the seat. His tongue runs a line across his split lip and he swallows. No need to spit in a cop car and get his ass beat any worse than he already has if this pounding headache and sore ribs are any indication. His left ankle ain’t doing too good either and his knuckles are completely thrashed.

He eyes his family standing by the house looking back at him. Except for his dad, he’s off hiding at somebody’s place until this whole situation cools down. Dad ran the moment shit hit the fan. Every man for himself, he said. Be a real man, take responsibility. Take one for the family. No pointing fingers when you’re caught, just gotta keep your mouth shut and get it done. A Milkovich ain’t no rat. Damn fucking right!

His mom has that same strange expression on her face from before, like she’s breaking apart inside. She’s gripping his ripped school backpack, probably in the process of mending it in time for classes next week like he ain’t already skipping anyways. He doesn’t know what the fuck to make of that so he looks away. Colin gives him the nod, a proud look on his face inherited from their dad. Getting arrested is like getting his first stripes, Iggy gives a smug smirk in return.

Mickey and Mandy are holding hands and standing close together, confused and scared. They’re too young and stupid, they don’t understand life yet. Someday they will and stop being such fucktards like Mom is being and thinking it's the end of the world for him.

This is a good moment and it’s all his own. If only his body wasn't in so much pain.

 

–

 

Iggy’s sixteen, wearing an ill-fitting dark suit bought last night from a thrift store down the street.

The sleeves are too fucking long and go halfway past his knuckles. He feels like a kid at kindergarten again; clothes too big and everyone staring as his mom hunched down to roll up the sleeves, kissed him on the head before nudging him away. Well, she ain’t here to deal with this fucking tie that’s supposed to be around his neck so he rolls it into a messy ball and tosses it against a corner of his room. He feels the back of his eyes starting to burn again.

They all get into the car to head over to the service at church. He purposefully shoves himself in the back with Mickey and Mandy even though by age rights, he has dibs on shotgun. Instead Colin’s stuck with the old man’s drunk, angry ramblings in the front as he continues to down a bottle of vodka with one hand and steer with the other.

“Fucking bitch left me with a fucking litter of little shits to take care of, that selfish little whore! Worse fucking choice of my life, marrying your damn mother and having her pop out you fuckers! ”

Fucking bitch. Fucking bitch. Fucking bitch. How many times did Iggy say that to his mom’s face? How many times in his head, to her back, with his dad? He feels nauseous, that leftover pizza this morning and the erratic driving now is a bad combination. Once they get there, he throws everything up in the restroom and doesn’t feel any better.

When it’s his turn to walk up to the casket, he stares at his permanently resting mom. His beautiful mom, his fucking tragic mom. He pushes his long sleeve back from his knuckles so he can cup a scarred hand against her cheek, then kisses her on the head. Then he walks off, away from everyone because he can’t see clearly out of his blurred eyes.

Mandy is outside by herself, sitting on the hood of their car. Iggy gets close enough to realize she’s sobbing desolately so he grabs a seat next to her. It’s hard for him to know how to start. He loves his sister, he just doesn’t know that much about her. Normally, she's with Mickey and he hangs with Colin since the two of them are always on runs anyways.

But she’s already explaining without his prompting, “I had to take the bottle away from him otherwise they weren’t gonna let him in for the service. Daddy says I’m a fucking bitch like mommy but I was just trying to help!”

Iggy wipes away her tears and look into her wet eyes, “Never accept those type of words from anyone, Mandy! Not fucking dad, not me, not someone who says they care about you or love you. You’re better than that, you will always deserve better than that.”

It’s a little confusing to her, those words that don’t quite make sense yet but they probably will someday. He prays she’ll always remember what he’s finally learned. How fucking appropriate, he learns how to be a man for the first time by not being his father but honoring his mother.

Him and Mandy in this moment, he’s hopeful that it’s not too late for them. Fruit from the poisonous tree and all.

 

–

 

Iggy’s nineteen, running his fingers through blonde hair and thrusting a few more times before he comes with a loud grunt.

Karen Johnson quirks her usual seductive smile that’s neither here or there, the lost child on a milk carton somewhere. As he rolls off and sinks into the bed next to her, he glances around the room all frilly and pretty like a fucking surreal teenage dream. Her parents are down the hall arguing, but the sounds are muffled so really all he hears is a man’s sneering voice going on and on. Every once in a while he picks up a few words such as toys, whore, God is judging.

So he peers over at Karen who’s already stretching like a cat by the window and slippng on a baggy shirt, his from when he tossed it on the ground earlier after climbing through. Doesn’t really matter though, he doesn’t have to go on a run for another two hours. He pulls on his boxers, grabbing the cigarette carton and lighter from his jeans. They light up, her pink lips forming o’s as she blows smoke out into the night air. The expression on her face, it’s a familiar one.

Like his mom when she was breaking apart inside.

He doesn’t love Karen, he’s not even sure he likes her too much outside of the fucking. But with his tattooed hand that’s normally used for roughhousing and breaking things, he guides her hair out of the way and cups the side of her face. Just like one of Mandy’s porcelain dolls still beautiful and intact on the outside, but they never make it past a week before they’re victims of destruction. He kisses her nicely and she smiles provocatively. They move back onto the bed for round two.

When he gets home, his dad is sitting at the kitchen table gearing up with Colin while Mandy’s cooking up something for them instead of already in bed for school tomorrow. Iggy goes to the bathroom to take a leak, pushing on the door with force since it tends to catch sometimes. There’s Mickey inside, holding a gun and probably posing in front of the mirror before the door slammed open.

“I’m going on the run!” he exclaims too excitedly before realizing it and taking it down to a manlier octave, “Dad needs the back-up and he says I’m ready. And I am, I’m gonna fucking handle it!”

His brother shoves past him to join everyone else in the kitchen, like a child on Christmas Eve. Iggy catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror as he walks to the toilet. That same damn familiar expression haunted his face for a moment.

But life keeps fucking going, so does he.

 

–

 

Iggy’s twenty-one, driving a crappy clunker of a car down the empty freeway at ninety miles an hour.

Colin hoots and hollers next to him. What a fucking spaz his brother is being, chucking empty cans of beer out the window and turning the music up loud enough to bust their eardrums. Iggy snickers and pushes on the gas pedal even harder. They’re still on the adrenaline high of a successful run that was really fucking touch-and-go for a while there.

Spending the rest of the night at the Alibi with their dad and uncles seems a pointless waste, there’s gotta be better shit out there. So they meet some new people at a club and dance their liquored minds off, pausing only to pop a pill or do a line of coke in the restroom. At some hazy point, he bangs this cute blonde in one of the stalls and the guy scribbles his number on a piece of paper afterwards. Iggy vaguely wonders whether blondie will still be cute in daylight when he isn’t tripping balls so much.

When the scene gets old, they hightail it out of there and drive to their childhood hangout spot. It’s a 24-hour food mart with an empty parking lot, far enough from their neighborhood not to be bothered by familiar faces. They load up on junk food and energy drinks, feasting indiscriminately and chucking trash out the car window. It’s still dark outside but on the fringe of turning.

Colin turns to him with a cheeky smile, “Saw you with the blonde earlier, hit a home run?”

“When have I not?” Iggy smirks back, pulling the crumbled piece of paper out from his pocket, “Got his digits too. Maybe I’ll hit him up in a few days for a second bang.”

“Batting for both sides of the team, you’re one overachieving bastard,” Colin replies through a yawn, rubbing an eye with the back of his hand.

Iggy laughs, “What can I say, I’m into fucking blondes.”

“As long as it’s not around dad, he’ll go ape-shit or whatever his drunk ass feels like doing,” Colin’s expression darkening, “We should’ve put that bolt lock on Mandy’s door sooner.”

“I know, fucking bastard doesn’t even remember," Iggy frowns despairingly, saying it out loud is just as horrible as in his head, "Why we gotta learn this from our aunt instead of Mandy, we’re not around the damn house enough. We need to change that,”

Nodding in agreement and too frustrated, Colin stares out the car window, “Well, how the hell do we do that? The shitty house ain’t even paid off by a long-shot which is just fucking pathetic. Mickey and Mandy need that home. It’s also our home. We can’t stop running jobs and those jobs mean we’re never there.”

But Iggy remembers and he can’t stop remembering. His old conversation with his sister all those years ago at their mother’s funeral, his youngest brother in the bathroom following in his misguided footsteps that worshipped their father’s, his fists slamming into his best friend sitting next to him because they were trained like fucking dogs to fight. It can’t be too late for them. Any of them.

So the two of them choose to compromise, to try only working jobs that are necessary and to make some damn changes because this isn’t good enough. This is the moment they’re determined to fucking try.

 

–

 

Iggy’s twenty-three, coming home at two in the afternoon.

After an exhaustive weeklong job halfway across the country and back, it’s been a tough one. But he’s damn proud because it’s run solely by him and Colin, no uncles or dad to split the profits. One step closer to owning the house outright. They're all pitching in to make it happen.

Mickey’s on the couch watching TV on low volume, Ian curled at his side with a slumbering head resting on his shoulder. With a nod to his brother, Iggy drops off all his stuff in his room before heading to the kitchen to grab two beers. His ass lands in the recliner chair they bought recently to accommodate the random evenings watching stuff together that they haven't had since their mom died. And their dad's still locked up, good fucking riddance.

This chair is just fucking awesome, he sighs contently as he passes a beer to Mickey before chugging down his own. Out of habit, his brother still gives him a nervous side-glance like the sky’s about ready to come crashing down any second. Their dad's ingrained fear into all of them too damn well and not much else. But it makes Iggy chuckle fondly to see Mickey’s face always such an open book. And to such an open heart, no matter how much the younger man tries to hide it.

His brother narrows his eyes, self-consciously asking, “What?”

“You’re fucking gay, I’m fucking bi, and Colin and Mandy are fucking straight. Oh, and Molly is really a boy,” Iggy says with a shrug, waiting for the mind explosion to happen, “Get over yourself, asshole.”

“B-bi? Bi fucking what?” Mickey’s stare is distrustful and his eyebrows up somewhere in his hairline, "What the fuck are you talking about?"

“Bi-fucking-sexual,” Iggy confirms before finishing off his beer, “Blondes are kinda my thing, dicks or chicks.”

Dead silence. This is definitely not how his little brother expected this conversation to go, not in a million years.

Iggy cracks a shit-eating grin until they’re both laughing hard enough to stir Ian briefly from sleep. But Mickey is good at being gentle, stroking the redhead’s cheek until those eyes are no longer flickering about under closed eyelids and his body is slack again.

"Well shit. Okay," The younger man says with a nod and then pulls an incredulous face, "Fuck me, it's been one weird fucking year."

“How are things?” Iggy asks with a soft smile.

Mickey pauses to reflect, placing a comforting hand on Ian' thigh, “Today’s been a good day.”

“You two gonna go to the 4th of July BBQ this fucking weekend?” Iggy continues, feeling relaxed and chatty, “I promised Mandy I’d go and Colin’s bringing the mystery girlfriend. I swear she ain't even real, he never keeps secrets from me for this long so I’ll believe it when I see it. And by it, I mean the fucking blow-up doll he ordered online!”

“Already saw him dropping her off at the grocery store where she works,” Mickey smirks knowingly, “Dani Wilcox from his school days before she left to have the baby. The way they were looking at each other, they’re totally banging. ”

Iggy’s mouth hangs completely open before his face radiates skeptical delight, “You’re totally shitting me! Dani as in Danielle Wil-suck-your-Cox? Damn he's had the hots for her tits since forever, fuck now I’m definitely going to this BBQ!”

“We’ll try to make it too,” Mickey quirks a hopeful grin, “And Svetlana’s gonna bring the baby meat. Yvgeny loves people, no fucking clue where he get that from though. We’re like the definition of antisocial.”

"Probably just a phase, he'll get over it," Iggy replies with a chortle, leaning further back in his chair and watching whatever's on.

He knows that like most things in life, sometimes it’s easier said than done. But everyone is trying and it’s more than just for a moment, it’s fucking hard at times but they’re getting there.

 

–

 

And sometimes it just works out. They’re all there at the BBQ giving Colin shit all fucking day. His total pain-in-the-ass family. But Colin couldn’t care less, he’s getting a bj in about five minutes.

 

**Author's Note:**

> The idea kind of caught me off-guard and it was really intriguing flushing out the different aspects of Iggy's character that we never get to see. This piece might not be for everyone; I found myself writing this with ultimately a very hopeful outlook for people who happen to find themselves in a bad situation. I really liked how this piece turned out and that's not something I'd normally say. So genuine thanks if you read to the end :)
> 
> Leaving this same message in all my stuff: I get anxious and self-conscious about my writing so I have to actively work towards building up enough confidence to read/respond to comments and look at stats. So please don't be offended if I don't respond in this century, I swear I'm not ignoring you and sincere apologies. Thank you SO MUCH for any comments, kudos, and bookmarking!


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